Curse on the Land

by Faith Hunter

  His voice muffled behind the spelled uni faceplate, he replied, “Up until the new girl decided to run her own rodeo.” They were standing on the side of the tent, not trying to hide the conversation.

  “Until then?” Soul asked.

  “Day one, she completed the human-sense evaluation, with initial technology, followed by enhanced senses,” Rick said, “which went well at first. A few hours in, Nell was attacked by fast-growing grass that Occam had to cut out of her. She received hospital treatment for dehydration and stitches for lacerations.”

  “More roots? That’s interesting.”

  Rick didn’t disagree, nor did he offer more information, which made me feel as if things were not as horrible as I feared, because Rick had been there when tree roots had grown into me not so long ago. He had seen. The fact that I wasn’t human wasn’t a secret, not anymore, but he wasn’t offering up any details that weren’t specifically asked for, a gift of privacy that I appreciated.

  “Day two?”

  “She tried to read the land again at a different site and had to be cut free again. No hospital this time.”

  “Day three?”

  “Far as I can determine, without her filing a report, today she was fine until she got a wild hair to retrieve a wildlife camera in the trees about a hundred fifty feet from where she found the baby. Admittedly I had listed the camera as one of the objectives for the day, but the moment they found dead humans and a spreading contamination, they should have retreated and initiated protocol.” They were closer to the tent now and I had to assume that Rick wanted me to hear them, because he kept talking. “From the moment she went after the camera and found the baby, she went rogue, without urgent need and with potential increased danger to herself and her unit. She screwed up.”

  Soul asked, “If she hadn’t gotten the baby and the camera when she did, would the lack of either have compromised the rescue mission or the camera retrieval?”

  “No. Camera would still have been there and the baby would likely have survived a few more hours until CSI and null suits got here.”

  I scowled down at the toes of my leather field boots. I didn’t care. I had done the right thing. A baby that might likely have survived a few more hours wasn’t good enough for me. Even a baby that might be magically contaminated.

  “What did we get from the camera?” Soul asked.

  “Mind-blowing. JoJo is on-site, downloading the footage to her laptop.”

  “Hmmm. So she had good instincts about the value of the evidence she broke protocol to attain. And I must say that saving the baby can be spun to excellent PR advantage. Also, it was the right thing to do, correct protocol or no.” I blinked and relaxed again, tension that had built as she talked easing away. “Thank you, LaFleur,” she said. “That will be all.”

  On the heels of those words, Soul stepped into the tent and let the unfastened doorway fall closed behind her. She stood in the entrance and studied me, her fingers laced together, draped in front of her hips, white booties the only thing that suggested she was on a magical contamination site. I stared back at her, my face giving nothing away, one hand on the sleeping baby. Beyond the cloth walls, I heard gurneys being rolled away, two by two, into the PsyCSI tents. They had begun to carry the dead from the shore.

  Finally Soul smiled, her full lips stretching open and a look of real humor on her face. “When I came to PsyLED, they had no idea what to do with me. I was a singularity at the time, the very first known paranormal being in federal law enforcement, a singularity as you are now. A species that humans had no idea existed.”

  “What are you?”

  “That information is above your security clearance,” she said easily.

  I gave a tiny nod to show that I was listening and, as I always did in the face of authority, took refuge in quotes. I said, “About singularities, ‘nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.’ And ‘nothing can come of nothing.’ So you were not, and are not, a singularity, not any more than I am.”

  Beneath my hand, the baby’s leg jerked in her sleep and she made a little popping sound with her lips as she exhaled. Absently I patted her and adjusted the baby blanket. I had spent the first twelve years of my life surrounded by and taking care of young’uns, and I could soothe one in my sleep.

  Soul watched and cocked her head to the side. “If you and your sisters are genetic, familial singularities?”

  I shrugged as if that wouldn’t bother me.

  Soul said, “I was nearly fired my first week on the job for not following the rules and regs set down by the people in charge of my unit. I ended up saving a family of four who were being attacked by a werewolf, and this was before the weres were out of the paranormal closet.” She smoothed her silver hair from her nape to her waist, curling the tail under. It looked like a self-comforting gesture. “It’s an old story, and it proved nothing then or now, except that I have always put doing the right thing before the job.”

  Which meant that I had done the right thing in Soul’s eyes. That was reassuring, not that I would share that either, saying instead, “To thine self be true.”

  She laughed, and it sounded like wind chimes. Mesmerizing. Like magic. I narrowed my eyes at her and she laughed again. “Shakespeare. They told me you liked to quote things instead of giving a direct answer.”

  “I always give a direct answer.”

  “You never give a direct answer.” When I didn’t reply, she said, “Then tell me what happened here.”

  “I don’t know. But the thing or things under the ground? The shadow-and-light dancer? It likes you. It’s been following you since you stepped onto the ground. Which you did without benefit of a car. How did you get here?”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I bled into the ground and now I know it. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know how I do what I do, or know what I know. Did you fly?”

  “Of course not. This is a no-fly zone.” Which sounded utterly irrelevant to the problem beneath our feet, the problem that was moving slowly in a circle, around and around beneath the tent, between us. I could feel the dancer, watching or sensing or whatever the blue blazes it was doing. Soul leaned toward me, and when she spoke there was something in her tone, a magical demand, an influence that burrowed into my skin and pricked my spirit. “How. Did. You. Know. When I stepped onto the land?”

  I let a small smile onto my face, speaking with the church accent I had grown up with. “You ain’t human, lady, and that ain’t a secret anymore. Some secrets are like the wind, blowing where they will, for good or ill.”

  “More Shakespeare?”

  “No. Just me.” Before she could question further, I changed the subject. “What are you going to do with the baby?”

  “Her name is Lisa Langston-Smith. Her mother and father are at the gate.”

  My eyes filled with unexpected tears at the sound of the name, and the fact that the baby wasn’t an orphan. Another part of me unclenched and eased, a part I hadn’t known was tight with worry. I had to wonder how many parts of me there were and how many were still clamped tight.

  Soul clasped her hands. “Her aunt brought her here for a party while babysitting.” Her tone said she wasn’t impressed with the aunt’s version of babysitting. “Social services has been called. Don’t look at me like that. They’ll work with the parents and I’m certain that her parents will get her back. Possibly, especially, now that the irresponsible aunt is no longer among the living.”

  Which was a coldhearted assessment. I crossed my arms over my chest. “When?”

  “When will the parents get her back? As soon as social services protocols allow it.”

  I frowned hard, staring Soul down. In my best, formal, talk-like-a-special-agent voice, I said, “There have always been rumors that PsyLED wants magical beings for their research. Now they have a baby who survived what might prove to be a magica
l MED event. They’ll take her to the labs and do tests first.”

  “Labs?” She looked amused.

  “Government labs. Like all the ones in the Knoxville area. Like one of the ones that possibly contributed to this MED.”

  “Magic from a laboratory?” Her fingers made a little don’t-be-an-idiot gesture. “Conspiracy theories. Foolishness shared by the uninformed and the uneducated.”

  “‘Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.’ That was a roundabout way of saying that the government needs to prove itself if it wants to be considered among the angels.”

  Soul tilted her head to me, her eyes sharper than a hunting hawk’s, a gesture that suggested I was being tested in ways I didn’t understand. “Lisa will be taken to the University of Tennessee Medical Center, the same place you were taken and well cared for. She will receive all the medical care she requires. If a few vials of blood are drawn along the way and a few scans are run, they will not hurt the baby and might help us.”

  I glared at that.

  Soul turned away and stepped out the cloth door.

  The shadow-and-light dancer beneath the ground attacked.

  SEVEN

  The ground threw Soul up and forward; she landed, hard, on her left side. Roots erupted and three vines grabbed her ankle, climbing her leg, faster than my eyes could follow. Soul made a noise I had never heard anyone make before, a wind chime, violin, and wood flute sound all together.

  I screamed, “Occam!” and dropped to my knees on the ground beside her. I grabbed the roots and heaved them away from her. But they were faster than I was. Her left leg was wrapped to the knee in vines that were fully leafed, the leaves deep green with black veins and a tarry petiole—the small stem from the bottom of the leaf to the larger stem. Soul’s right foot was being pulled into the ground. I tore vines, freeing her right foot. Soul kicked at the ground, trying to crawl away. The roots began growing thorns and between one handful of roots and the next, half-inch-long thorns pierced my skin. My blood splattered on the ground. This was bad.

  A white-clad form landed beside me and began hacking at the stems and roots with a vamp-killer, the silver-plated edge catching the light. Through the clear faceplate I recognized Occam. I tore up three vines, but they grew back faster than I could destroy them.

  Rick fell beside me, a vamp-killer in his hand. He pushed me out of the way. “Get back inside before it decides you’re tasty again too.”

  I stepped into the tent, but kept the door open, watching. Sucked the blood from my hands. I felt the thing in the ground, even through the tent bottom and the protective spells. If it had been a puppy, now it was a wolf, ripping and tearing at Soul’s flesh.

  The bloodlust I had thought I’d defeated rushed back. I forced it down, fighting the need to take Soul for the earth. The desire was a painful lump in my gut, in the rooty scars. Soul’s powerful blood called to me.

  The men whacked with their blades, burying the edges in the ground. The vines bled, but in the bright of day, it was a shiny, blackened color, like burned motor oil, cave-black with a hint of iridescent silver when the light hit it just right. The oily black stuff coated their blades and dripped to the ground. Soul was fighting, too, ripping at the vines, and her blood was scarlet, splattering in a wide arc. And everywhere blood landed, roots and vines thrust up from the earth, drinking it down. Searching for her.

  Both men were shouting, their voices muffled beneath the suits. Soul’s voice was unfettered, however, and she was screaming in that violin–wood flute voice, the pitch rising. Soul’s legs began to glow, a pearlized radiance that looked as if they were lit from within.

  “No! Soul! Don’t!” Rick shouted through his faceplate. “You’re almost free!”

  But Soul’s legs roiled beneath his hands and the men leaped back, both cursing. Light blasted out and Soul . . . twisted. Coiled. Her body shifting into something much larger. Lighter. A nacre-lit brilliance of light and energy, over twenty feet long. Massive back legs. Serpent face with curved and spiraled and spiked horns and opal white teeth and fangs. She swiveled her head to me, her eyes taking in the tent and me and . . . my bloodlust. She screamed in defiance and snapped her fangs at me. I leaped back, into the uncertain safety of the antispell tent. Soul’s wings unfurled. She leaped for the sky, trumpeting fury and victory.

  A light dragon.

  An arcenciel.

  Soul was an arcenciel . . . “Ohhh,” I whispered, my mouth falling open.

  Rick looked around, his face grim, noting where everyone was. Not one person beyond the radius of us three seemed to have noticed anything. No one came running. No one pointed at the sky where Soul had disappeared in a blast of light. No one had even seen the transformation except Rick, Occam, and me. As soon as I could get my mouth to rehinge, I smiled sweetly at Rick and said, “I guess Occam and me just gained a few points in our security clearances.”

  Rick cursed again and whacked the ground with his vamp-killer, cutting the vines that were still writhing and thrashing, splattering drops of that oily black stuff. I had to wonder if the silver-plated blades were killing whatever the growing viny thing was. Almost as if in answer to my question, the earth writhed, lifted, fell, and went still. Rick said to us, “This goes no further.”

  “Yes, boss,” Occam said.

  I took that as my cue. I picked up Lisa in her baby seat, slid her diaper bag strap over a shoulder, and walked out of the tent, past the men. Both were breathing hard. Neither said a word. Nothing in the ground tried to drag me under. Nothing paid any attention to me at all. On the way out, I paused and read the little girl and myself on a P 1.0. We were not contaminated, the girl reading human-normal, me reading me-normal. The baby hadn’t touched the ground or the pond with bare skin, and I seemed to have some immunity to the come-hither spell. And when my blood had spilled during Soul’s battle with the ground, the dancer hadn’t bothered with me. Because Soul’s blood was more powerful than mine. Yes.

  Social services met me at the front gate. I had planned to give Lisa directly to the Langston-Smiths, in direct opposition to rules and regulations, but the social worker took her from my arms in an action that was so natural it must have looked as if turning her over was my intention all along. Media news vans captured the moment, which meant possibilities of national exposure. I hated the idea of my image being seen everywhere, but there was no stopping it. The child protective agency woman did allow Lisa’s parents to hold their baby for a bit before they were all whisked off to UTMC. While the parents cried over their child, the social worker thanked me for being so helpful. And I felt like a traitor to the parents and to Lisa.

  I had no faith in the system to do the right thing, despite the recent raid on the compound where I was raised and the removal of over a hundred children for sexual abuse. Some of them had been returned to families who should never have had access to kids. But the system was made up of people, and people made mistakes. They also often tried to do the right thing, so maybe this social worker would see to it that Lisa was returned to her parents. Or maybe not. I had to admit that I was not the person to be making such decisions, but it was still hard to see the weeping parents give their child over to the counselor as armed police looked on.

  I should talk to Rick before leaving, I knew that. Proper protocol required that I, a probie who had not followed orders, be censured. I didn’t want to hear him fire me. Or put me on desk duty. So I took refuge, as I had done in the past, by leaving. Rick called it running away. I called it going back to work.

  I removed gear from T. Laine’s car and hitched a ride back to HQ with a deputy who was heading that way. In the parking lot, I repacked my Chevy and drove off. I had done everything Rick had asked me to do except reading the land in North Carolina. That, I wanted to do alone, on Soulwood, and could, fired or not. If I was gonna get sacked or stuck at a desk, it might as well be a puni
shment I really earned. And since I had gone rogue, I might as well go rogue all the way.

  The only person who seemed able to hang around contamination and contaminated people without giving in to it—not that anyone but me seemed to have noticed that yet—was me. That placed me in a unique position to find out things that could take the others days. But first I had to eat a late lunch and talk myself into a rebellion that was normally foreign to me.

  I wasn’t used to takeout, but I had heard the unit talk about the barbecue at Calhoun’s on the River, and I called in an order. Calhoun’s was on the Tennessee River, literally on the water, with a wharf for people to motor up to and park their boats. Or maybe dock them. Or moor them. I wasn’t sure of the terminology. But the view was wonderful and as I waited for my meal to be packed up, I walked through the place enjoying the ambience. I even had a chance to walk out on the dock, right up to the water. But a sudden feeling of vertigo made me go back inside fast. I marked it to never having been that close to a big body of water, hunger, and the aftereffects of being lunch to the land. I checked my hands, and the slices must have been more superficial than I realized. They had closed already.

  I was still getting accustomed to the prices at restaurants, after a lifetime of parsimonious living both on the church compound and as a poor widder-woman, and I gulped at the cost of one meal. I could feed myself for days on the price, which was over ten dollars. But I also had to admit that the hickory-smoked pork barbecue sandwich, which I ate in the parking lot, was as good as anything Daddy had put on the smoker back home. I even put down my cell and stopped reading texts and reports from the other members of the unit just to eat. When I was feeling less peckish, I put the trash in the back of the truck, in the garbage bag I kept there to be dropped off at the dump, and I dialed JoJo on my cell.